Unbreakable threads

Chapter One Hundred and Nine: Daryl And Aaron Find Morgan.

Aaron and Daryl had been on the road for two days, tracking a  man in a  red poncho who they hoped might join Alexandria. The journey  had been exhausting, and though they had been careful not to lose track of him, the last sighting had slipped through their fingers. The man had vanished into the trees, just out of their reach, and despite their best efforts, they hadn't been able to catch up with him.

But the quiet of the woods was broken when they stumbled upon something unexpected. A large food warehouse, standing alone amidst the trees, hidden away and seemingly untouched by time. Its doors were old, rusted but still standing strong.

Daryl's eyes narrowed as he approached the entrance, his hand instinctively reaching for his knife, ready for anything. "This could be good," he muttered, more to himself than to Aaron, as he gave the door a cautious push.

Aaron moved in behind him, his hand resting on his rifle as they slowly entered. The smell of stale air and dust filled their nostrils, but there was something else beneath it—a faint scent of something more familiar: food.

The interior of the warehouse was filled with rows of stacked boxes, crates, and old shelves that had long since been abandoned. But among the debris, there were still signs of what had been left behind—bags of flour, canned goods, boxes of rice, and even some long-forgotten crates of dried fruit.

Daryl wasted no time and began rifling through the nearest crates. He pulled out a few cans of beans and a half-empty bag of rice, his eyes scanning the room for anything more valuable.

Aaron moved in next to him, inspecting a nearby shelf where the boxes appeared to be in better shape. "This could feed Alexandria for weeks," he said, a small sense of hope flickering in his voice.

Daryl didn't respond immediately, focused on the task at hand. He wasn't the type to get excited about anything anymore. But the food was a good find. Even he had to admit that.

Daryl's hands moved mechanically, shoving the cans and food into his pack, but his mind wasn't really focused on the task. The rhythm of his movements was almost soothing, but it couldn't quiet the storm in his head. The argument with Alyssa kept playing over and over, an endless loop that gnawed at him.

He hadn't meant to snap at her, but when he saw her hug Noah goodbye before the run, something inside him had flared. He could have handled it differently—he knew that. But the frustration, the confusion, had gotten the better of him. He wasn't even sure why it bothered him so much.

Alyssa had always been like a little sister to him, someone he looked out for, someone he could protect. Over time, that feeling had shifted. She was a daughter, a friend, someone he trusted completely. But now... now everything felt more complicated. It was like the line between family and something more had blurred, and Daryl didn't know how to navigate it..

He had told himself it was nothing, but he knew it wasn't that simple. Daryl wasn't good at expressing his feelings, and he definitely wasn't good at dealing with them. The uncertainty, the confusion—it made him feel like he was losing control.

Daryl couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. What made it worse was that Alyssa remained completely oblivious to how he was feeling.

She was just... herself—joking, being sarcastic, and carrying on like nothing had changed. To her, nothing had changed and maybe it hadn't . But for Daryl, it had.. It was confusing, it was frustrating, and it was beginning to consume him.

She was 19, and he was 29. It didn't matter how much they had been through together, how much they understood each other—the age gap, the years of him knowing her since she was a 17-year-old kid, and the fact that she was Rick's daughter, all of that hung in the air like a silent barrier he couldn't cross.